


virulent.

by system_error



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'm Sorry, after V is rescued, but with liberties taken, it's the car scene, suffering and introspecion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/system_error/pseuds/system_error
Summary: Your voice is firm, and your eyes are dry as you lift your head a fraction to look at V. V, who has poison coursing through him that was worse than the one he saved you from. V, who’s still thinking of the livelihood of the person who caused this even as he shakes and sweats, sickness oozing off of him in waves. V, who could have got away, or could have taken more time to think of how to confront Rika were it not for the urgency that wasyourselfthat propelled him to act rashly. V, who you’re kneeling down before like you’re seeking repentance from a source of reverence.The film jams. Your eyes are dry.





	virulent.

**Author's Note:**

> V's route gave me enough feelings to make me attempt to write;;;

When Seven first ushered you into the car, easing V inside after, nobody spoke. You suppose there wasn’t really anything to say -- or maybe there was just too much, too many things to fit within such a small space and if anyone were to even try, the floodgates would be blown opened and you all would drown in perfectly breathable air. The roar of the car helped mask the breathless gasps from the man you’re currently half-restraining-half-holding in your lap, but it doesn’t do nearly enough. Seven hasn’t said a word to you. The radio is off. V’s sweat is plastering his hair to your skirt and his breath occasionally warms you when he turns his head, and somehow there’s too much noise within this palpable silence. 

You don’t know whether you want to scream or cry or make some unholy amalgamation of the two. 

You apologize instead. 

It’s a quiet murmur, hardly a decipherable sound that’s whispered under your breath like a prayer, but you can already feel your eyes filling with an ocean so you exhale, once more,  _ “I’m sorry.”  _

The days you spent conversing with these people, albeit with a skewed understanding in the beginning, had never left you to believe that this was how your first meeting would go. Maybe it never had the chance to be perfect, or anywhere close to nice, but this just seemed too extreme. Someone could die.  _ Someone was dying.  _ You have a genius meme-hacker in the driver’s seat and the most tragically apologetic man you have ever met in your lap, both of whom had risked their life to save you, and all you have to offer is a measly  _ i’m sorry.  _

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that. You’ve done well,” Seven says, quietly, and you meet his gaze through the rear view mirror before quickly casting it aside. You don’t want him to see the torrents building in front of your vision. You don’t want to see the kind of look he’d give you, either, not after all this, not after what you’ve  _ neglected  _ to do even if he might not completely know it, not after -- 

V gasps suddenly, back arching with his eyes pinched further shut, and you feel more than see how everything in him goes rigid and you waste no time in stringing one hand through his hair while your other presses against his shoulder. You want to be gentle, so gentle, but there’s poison coursing through his veins and you don’t even know if he can  _ feel  _ gentle, so you tell yourself it’s for his own sake that you dig your nails a little harder than necessary into his shoulder, grounding him or yourself or both and the compromise is you gently stroking the clammy skin of his forehead at the same time. 

Your back presses further against the seat as the car accelerates just that much more. 

“V? V, Jihyun, can you hear me? Hey,” your voice comes out strong, a blessing in disguise, really, and V makes a choking sound in the back of his throat before he clenches his jaw and buries his cheek in your leg. “It’s okay. We’ll be there soon, alright? Just a little longer. You’ve done well.”

You parrot Seven’s words from just a moment ago, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as V shakily grunts in what may or may not be a response. Your hands are steady as you work them into comforting motions, and you smile even though V hasn’t opened his eyes once since he was loaded into the car. You think you might be afraid to look away from him in case he might disappear; in case that too-fast thrumming of his pulse against you will fade out into nothing. 

“How out of it is he?” 

That’s the reasoning you give yourself when Seven’s question rings through the car, but you do at least answer. “Pretty badly. I think he can probably hear us, but I don’t really think he’s there enough to process anything we’re actually saying…”

There’s a contemplative hum from the front seat, followed by what sounds like a small tap against the steering wheel. “Well, that’s probably for the best. I doubt consciousness would do him any favors with how he is right now.” 

You know he’s talking more for your sake, and you’re thankful since your words start to form themselves with a little less water each time, the waves confining themselves further down into your chest and away from your eyes and voice. 

“Probably. I think he held on just long enough to talk to Rika, back there.” There’s a laugh there, startling you as it worms its way out from within you, and the weightlessness of it would have maybe been nice if it weren’t rung in such heavy atmosphere. “...And maybe to warn me, too.”

You remember Ray’s texts, worrying and probing about if  _ the savior  _ would hate him if she found V in  _ this state, like this,  _ and your own indecisiveness about the situation at the time scalds at your insides and makes you feel like you’re going to be sick. How many hours were between when that text was sent, and when V’s came through, all fragmented sentences and disconnected phrases and  _ i’ll save you, i’ll save you;  _ words that had to have been sent when he couldn’t have even see the screen or known where he was. How much time had passed  _ before  _ Ray had even messaged you? He was a hesitant kind of person, and while you’re biased for believing in the good of everyone, you know he was earnest in his feelings for you. If nothing else, you knew that _he_ believed in it, and that made him scared of doing something that could scare you off. He may not have believed your affection for V or the RFA to be anything meaningful, but he knew it was  _ there  _ and that meant he could have been waiting for God only knows how long before broaching the question to you…

You swallow. Once. Twice.  Breathe in when V shudders against you, a larger torrent against his persistent tremors that haven’t once stopped and he groans, painfully, _miserably_ as his voice warbles into something more choked and stifled. Your hands caress meaningless patterns into him as his own twist and clench painfully across his middle, and you can only pray that the two extremes can achieve equilibrium. 

“Are you okay?”

Seven’s question earns another laugh from you, but this one comes out as just a brush of air through your nose and a fading smile as you respond. “I’m not the one dying in the backseat of a car.” 

It’s a comment made in poor taste, and you know it. You’re not even sure why you said it when it makes your own heart clench painfully from within, but Seven seems to at least take it in stride. 

“Sure,” he laughs, mirthless, exhaustion hanging in every sound. “but you’re the one currently holding the dying man in your arms, so I figure you have a right to an opinion.” 

That finally gets you to tear your eyes away from the  _ dying man in your arms, oh, how you wish it could be as much of a joke as you’re both using and pretending it to be  _ and angle an empty glare into the front mirror. Seven’s golden eyes flicker back at you and there’s a covenant there, just for a moment, built in understanding. You smile, and you wonder if you’re imagining how similar it looks to his and pray that it doesn’t signal defeat. 

“I’ll feel better once we get to the house and can try to do...something,” you say. “I’m just worried, right now, but thank you for caring. How are you holding up?” 

“Aahh, same, same. But! We’re almost there, so don’t worry.”

And that’s all this seems to be, an eternal loop of apologies and reassurances, a circle inside a circle; double, endless, and eternal. 

“R..ika…”

Your hands still. 

“V?”

There’s a grunt, which quickly turns into a wet, choking cough as V gasps suddenly and wretches himself off of his back and instead onto his side. His mouth is inches away from your stomach, his lips parting and clenching in what looks like a desperate attempt to keep from crying out completely. His throat works against your thigh, swallowing and swallowing and taking in too-much-yet-not-enough air and finally there  _ is  _ a cry, a tired and painful and  _ desperate  _ sound that leaves him more tense than before and another part of your heart  _ shatters.  _

“Is... _ ngh hh... _ you...L-Luciel..”

“Luciel is fine,” the name feels odd on your tongue, unused to it, and you distantly wonder if it sounds odd for Seven to hear too. “I’m fine. We’re in the car, remember? Everyone is safe. We're safe. You did well.” 

You watch as V turns his head up and seems to try and peel his eyes open before very quickly realizing it is a bad idea. There’s another choking sound as he jerks them back shut and presses further against you, and without thinking you shift your palm to hover just over the side of his face. 

“R.. _ a-aagk..ngh... _ y-you-”

“Stop, V, you need to rest--”

“We’re here.” 

Your head jerks up at the interruption just in time to see the nose of the car swing in front of what looks to be a log cabin, followed by a rather ungraceful stop that leaves both you and V rocking forward. Your eyes follow Seven as he yanks his keys out of the ignition and swoops around the car and open your door, and only then does he hesitate. 

So just this once, you take the lead. 

“I’m not sure if he’ll be able to stand like this. Is the door unlocked? I can go grab it while you…”

He seems to snap back into it quickly enough, and he rubs the back of his head while answering. “Ah, right...Yeah. That sounds good. It should be unlocked.” 

Seven’s gaze doesn’t linger on you for long, instead settles on the man in your lap who’s all perspiration and chemicals and delusions and you will your hands to pull away from him as you lean further back. V’s response is weak but immediate, a whimper that his throat catches on far too quickly but you’re already adjusting yourself in your seat and screaming assurances at yourself from within. 

“Wh..”

“It’s okay,” you say, quickly, carefully slipping your hands under his head to lift him while you separate yourself from the car and break contact completely. Seven leans in right after, and you feel simultaneously too hot and too cold as you will yourself to move the handful of paces to the front door. This was supposed to be home base, wasn’t it? Weren't you supposed to feel relief from being here, away from Mint Eye and Rika, with V with you? Where he had a chance to recover -- because you can’t,  _ you can’t,  _ you can’t think about the possibility of him not getting better, you’re still warring with the pocket of your soul that wants you to tell Seven to  _ screw  _ V’s wishes,  _ get him to a hospital.  _ You’re so selfish, aren’t you? All of you are. Acknowledging it doesn’t make any of this easier to face. 

“Hey-- _ V!? Wha--” _

Your whole body pivots when you hear the alarm in Seven’s voice, and that’s how you manage to catch the exact moment that V’s legs seem to collapse out from under him and send both boys to their knees. You’re already making your way towards them when you see V’s whole body convulse forward and retch, once, twice, coughing and gagging as something formless and dark pools on the ground in front of them and you’re kneeling down as well. You look from V, to Seven, repeat,  _ repeat,  _ and Seven seems torn for about two beats before he speaks. 

“I need you to help me get him on my back, just like before. I thought I'd be able to manage it on my own, but this poison doesn't seem to be giving him a break and I don't want to risk dropping him.”

You don’t answer. You soundlessly move beside V and pull him towards you as Seven moves in front, and you breathe. Look at the ground. 

You're whispering before you can even stop yourself, “Is he...was that…?”

_ Breathe _ . V moans against your neck and you feel his head loll to the side, can hear him repeatedly swallow and shake against you, and  _ god  _ did you wish you could blame it all on the biting air of nightfall. You’re about to hand him back off to Seven when he makes another small noise that you _almost_ mistake for a high pitched sigh, but you can feel the way his throat is working against you and you have hardly a moment to spare when you feel his stomach tense and heave and you’re suddenly holding his head parallel to the ground as he’s violently sick. 

“Oh, V…” you find yourself mumbling, holding him steady while he heaves and retches and you can only hope that this is a good sign, maybe, that the poison still has a chance to be rid of like this and it hasn’t already been absorbed. It’s all you’re able to do while you whisper incomprehensible nothings to him that he can’t even hear, while Seven watches the both of you, looking like he wants to do something but unsure of what to try. You understand.  _ You understand.  _

When you think V is mostly done, you press your lips to the back of his shoulder blade and pray, silently, that this won’t end in tragedy. The only response you get is the unsteady rhythm of V’s labored gasps for air, and you squeeze your eyes shut for just a fraction of a second and take him in. 

“C’mon, we need him inside quick.” 

You take Seven’s command for what it is and shift V on his back, and try not to hold your breath when he raises himself back on his feet with far too much ease. You both hurry inside, letting Seven go first and gently click the door shut and will your brain to catch up with you, to stop lingering on the outside when you’ve already moved in, to see the house instead of the ground, to hear words instead of gasping moans, choking air, breathless heaves _the smell of --_

You think of Ray and you think of the text and you think of the time, the hours, the  _ hours  _ between his and V’s messages and you think of your suspicions and your contemplations and your lack of commitment and how it all tied into this, right here, your brain fully caught up and staring,  _ watching,  _ V on the couch and unable to stay still. It’s like there is a hurricane in his skin and he won’t stop waving, seizing, air catching in abused lungs and you can’t tell what you want to do more, drop down on your knees and pray for forgiveness or march yourself right back into the night and remove yourself from this picture completely. 

Your phone burns a hole in your pocket and your heart burns a hole in your chest and the light of the moon through the window to the left suddenly has the intensity of a supernova and you _really are burning --_

Seven is barking directions at you. 

Maybe if you were all here, you’d flinch at the sharp tone being lashed at you, but all you notice is that it gets you moving and wordlessly start to gather the supplies he asks for, following where he tells you to go, where to set them, what they’ll be used for. You hold your silence and keep your eyes carefully hidden, your bangs a poor man’s veil for the gaze you keep locked just below everyone’s form. You listen as Seven tells you that he’s going to keep V on the couch before moving him to the bed, just so that he can monitor him for now and have quicker access to the other parts of the house. You know that you nod. You notice how he starts to ask how you are, but stops and abruptly makes a sharp  _ tsk’ing  _ noise and looks away. You don’t know what to say. 

“Listen, I’m...going to run out to the car and bring my stuff inside and start working on the hacker problem. I’ll call Vanderwood while I’m out there and ask him to come take a look at the situation; I think he’ll be able to help, since V refuses a hospital…”

Your mind reels, even if it’s just for a second. Film clicked into place. 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just...do that anyway?” 

Your voice is firm, and your eyes are dry as you lift your head a fraction to look at V. V, who has poison coursing through him that was worse than the one he  _ saved  _ you from. V, who’s still thinking of the livelihood of the person who caused this even as he shakes and sweats, sickness oozing off of him in waves. V, who could have got away, or could have taken more time to think of how to confront Rika were it not for the urgency that was  _ yourself  _ that propelled him to act rashly. V, who you’re kneeling down before like you’re seeking repentance from a source of reverence.    


The film jams. Your eyes are dry. 

“Aahh, I’d really like to do that, if I’m being honest, but...I think we should respect it, just for now. See what Madame can do and if he gets worse or doesn’t improve, I’ll let you help me bust him over there ourselves.” 

You turn your head and can see a ghost of a smile shimmering over Seven’s face, and you think that maybe in another light it could have looked comforting. In this light he looks a little like Ray, even if Seven’s colors are like a fully saturated version, the source of an echo, but you can’t deny the...re...sem...blance…

You lose focus and breathe,  _ breathe,  _ willing the shutter in your mind to come unstuck and look away while managing to nod. 

Seven rightfully takes that as the best he’s going to get and pats you on the shoulder once before stepping behind you and out the door. You don’t cry.  _ You do not cry.  _

You reach up and grab V’s hand, squeezing once, twice, three times and you mutter, quietly,  _ I’m sorry.  _

You are deplorable; your sins far from venial. Your willingness to go with the flow and hold your tongue has made you weak, even if it serves as a magnet for those uninformed. You wonder, not for the first time, if Rika really was right about you, about the darkness and the devil that sits lying in wait, harbored and coveted by the little wayward lights you manage to draw in with your idealistic attitude. You might not start a cult if something doesn’t go your way, and you might not believe that all of your deceit and lies are ever in the favor of those you are trying to protect, but… 

You do burn too bright. You do think, maybe, that you’d sacrifice your all to prove someone of their worth. You think, maybe, you’d want to keep them in chains if it meant keeping them from harm.  _ Dangerously possessive,  _ your mind whispers.  _ Disgustingly codependent,  _ your heart echoes. 

You think of how you want to save everyone, and in the end, hurt everyone instead. 

_ I’m sorry.  _


End file.
